Never Assume
by Rosa Clearwater
Summary: "And, just what is the moral of the story, Mr. Reese?" Mr. Reese just glared at him for a solid moment. Considering all of the mistakes Harold has made in the field, he's really one to talk. But, after a few moments of obstinate silence, John sighed. "'Moral of the story: Never assume.'"


A/N: I looked over my older drabbles, and found inspiration in something I had previously mentioned. This is definitely crack, and definitely unbeta'd, but I'm indulging the shipper in me. Also, I'm totally making up the reference to a nearby theatre - New York City is not my forte. Enjoy!

 _10/08/17 A/N:_ I decided to finally just bring this over from AO3 and make it its own oneshot. As I wrote earlier, I hope you enjoy :)

_._

"And, just what is the moral of the story, Mr. Reese?"

Mr. Reese just glared at him for a solid moment. Considering all of the mistakes Harold has made in the field, he's really one to talk. But, after a few moments of obstinate silence, John sighed.

"'Moral of the story: Never assume.'"

There had been a Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy movie marathon a few blocks away from the library. On a whim, Finch confessed that that particular movie couple, Hepburn and Tracy, were a favorite of his.

Which soon led to the two of them stepping into the theaters during a brief break in the numbers. They only got to see one movie, Desk Set, but one had been enough. Afterwards, Mr. Reese had made many wisecracks about EMERAC, and Finch was content merely to smile indulgently in response.

But now, instead of enjoying each other's presence in a dimly-lit theatre, they were trapped inside a dark closet.

"It seems Miss Shaw and the Machine have been conspiring lately. Though to what extent, it seems we'll be unable to find out anytime soon." Harold supposed that he should be more concerned about this than he was, but found that he was surprisingly disinterested in that line of inquiry.

Currently, he was more concerned with how close to John he was. He was a little more distracted by the fact that in the process of being pushed into the closet, he ended up quite literally falling into John's arms and was unable to untangle their legs.

No matter, there was one more potential line of help to find. Harold tried reaching for his phone, but suddenly John's hand stopped him.

"Not only would you compromise the Library, but do you really want to explain to Fusco or Carter why we're in a closet?" Harold paused for a moment, confused by why the thought of compromising the Library didn't already come to mind.

"Good point." Was all he could say before letting his hand rest on someone's leg. Judging from the subtle movement of Mr. Reese, Harold was willing to bet it was John's leg.

"Well, Mr. Reese," In a situation like this, boundaries were a number one priority, "What do you suggest we do?"

"Well, _Harold,_ " It seems John was currently having an aversion to boundaries. And, when his silky voice cut through the air like that, it was rather difficult to disagree. "I suppose there is _some_ reason the Machine decided to throw us into a locked closet. What do you think?"

Finch thinly smiled at this, knowing that there was undoubtedly some reason this incident occurred. For a brief moment he contemplated the concept of there being some other AI that managed to fool Shaw into thinking it were the Machine. However, this scenario wouldn't fit the mindset of an AI like that- said AI would want them dead and permanently out of the picture, not trapped in a closet.

As Finch began to mentally run through various potential reasons behind this predicament, the space around them seemed to decrease. He wanted to fidget with the lack of distance between him and John - not because of the man himself, but because Finch just wasn't used to being in such close proximity with another person.

And with this close proximity came not only emotional barriers, but also physical discomfort. As Harold adjusted himself, a pain shot through his side and he couldn't help but softly gasp.

" _Harold_?" He could hear John lean forward, felt the energy of a hand lean towards him but stop in its track. He could only really focus on breathing, but knew that if he didn't respond that Mr. R- John- would become even more concerned.

"It's just a little discomforting being in such a position, Mr. Reese." He tried not to snap, but was afraid his efforts were for naught. And then, silence fell over the two again.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Are you any good at massages, Mr. Reese?" came the wry response. He really shouldn't have asked, he shouldn't even be complaining of the matter. But the pain was there, and he hardly expected-

Gentle hands were only inches away from his shoulders.

" _Yes._ " Came the raspy response. "You'll need to turn around if it's possible, but yes." Harold paused in his thoughts, very grateful that the lack of lighting hid his blush. He knew that John was only trying to help, that it was only an innocent way of wanting to assist in any capacity.

But this sort of attention, platonic or otherwise, had not been given to Harold in many years.

However, the pain was beginning to creep up and slowly grow. And, soon, Harold would have to let him help or he would be unable to even stand up without assistance.

"Okay." He spoke uncharacteristically, but this was a very uncharacteristic situation.

First, John untangled their legs ever so delicately. He apologized every time he noticed Harold suppressing a wince, but it had to be done.

Then came getting the poor man to face the other direction. It took effort, and it took patience, but eventually Harold found himself practically leaning on John. He was heavily breathing from the exertion, and almost didn't realize how intimate the whole situation had become until he felt the vigilante's heartbeat right next to his own.

Finch bolted a few inches forward, ignoring his own pain at the movement.

"I'm quite sorry, that was rather inappropriate of me." He stammered, and felt John's gaze sharpen.

"Finch, please don't do that again." He internally winced, knowing that it was he that stepped too far. "Sudden movements when you're not in pain are one thing. But, please, don't just move away even if you feel uncomfortable. You need to take it slowly, even if it kills you to."

Harold paused, blushing even more so now and very grateful Mr. Reese couldn't see his face. A hand reached out to steady him.

"Is it still okay to help?" This would be it. Harold was very ashamed of himself, but he already knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself as much as he'd like.

However, they wouldn't be getting out of here any time soon. Shaw undoubtedly took Bear and left the place a long time ago. The Machine, whatever plans it had in mind, was not going to suddenly make it possible for them to leave.

"Yes." Came the soft response.

Gentle, firm hands waited a few moments before caressing his back. But there was one problem.

"Finch, in order for this to work, you can't be wearing three layers." Harold took this information in stride, reaching to undo the buttons of his jacket. He could at least do that much without too much pain.

"Mr. Reese, I'm afraid I'm going to need your-" But the jacket was already slipping off his shoulders, and Finch found it was not only easier to breathe, but that there was also less pain. He sighed in relief, breathing in the change.

"Better?" It would normally sound a lot more coquettish to hear Mr. Reese speak like that, but this tone was more concerned than anything.

"Much. Thank you."

Another moment of silence.

"Finch, I'm either going to have to untuck your button-up or take it off altogether." The unspoken question hung in the air, and Finch resisted the urge to sigh and tense up.

"You can untuck it, Mr. Reese." And he did. Slowly, so as to not frighten Harold.

Unfortunately, slowly also unintentionally translated in sensuously and Harold barely suppressed a shiver of delight.

"Are you okay, Harold?"

"Quite fine, Mr. Reese." He needed to keep it together for both of their sakes. He couldn't afford to lose this friend over a silly moment in a locked closet.

That noble train of thought was all fine and dandy, until fingers swept through the button-up and the undershirt.

And skin touched skin.

That's when Harold's breath caught itself. Strong hands paused for another moment, but continued to scan his back to see exactly where the tension lied.

They swept up and down, and even those innocent movements almost coaxed a quiet moan of relief out of him.

But that only happened when John's hands found a particularly tough knot and began to work it out. That's when decorum slipped out the window and Harold softly sighed in relief. A subtle smile formed on John's face, but Harold was focused so much not losing all composure that subtlety was hardly required.

And, then a few more knots began to be worked on. And the relief was so overflowing, so surprising, that Harold could hardly contain his reaction.

That's when John decided to take a chance. He would have never have guessed that they'd ever be in this situation, but he supposed that in itself was a reminder to never assume.

_._

A/N: This is not my typical length - apparently I had more to write about this subject than anticipated. Nonetheless, I hope you've enjoyed it!

Having experienced very strong back pain myself in the last year, I can safely say I would probably melt if Mr. Reese put his hands to use on my back - so I have to applaud Harold for being able to pretty much control himself.

And, finally, Desk Set (1957) is a fabulous movie. It's currently on Netflix and I'd highly recommend it!

 _10/08/17 A/N:_ If you're curious about _Desk Set_ and you want to read some more fluffy Rinch, I'd be more than happy to also bring over my other story from AO3 called "The Desk Set of Interest" :)


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